


When You Do as You Are

by synchronized_strangers



Series: Mating Games Fic [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Combative Kink, Dubious Consent, F/M, Homicidal Ideation, Murder Fantasies, Psychological Torture, Serial Killer Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 20:52:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1756757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synchronized_strangers/pseuds/synchronized_strangers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It used to be the stillness that got him hard, the way a body goes limp in the moment of death. The sudden vacancy, the space where a soul used to be until he took it. The sense of power and control... </p><p>But now it’s the moment their eyes meet across her bedroom and he gets to watch her fall apart all over again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You Do as You Are

It used to be enough on its own -- the blood sheeting through his fingers, sliding heavy off his wrists and up his arms. The heat of it soaking into his skin and the cuffs of his shirt, rolled up to his elbows and still not clear of the carnage. There’s so much warmth in a human body, so much life just waiting for him to drag it out. And the look in their eyes when he does…

Shock and surprise and fear and _release_. Like they’ve just been waiting for him to do it, too.

It’s its own reward, the killing, but it isn’t what fulfills him anymore. It’s not enough on its own. Not now that he knows it can be so much more devastating, so much more destructive. Not when his brutality of flesh pales in comparison with the way she shatters when he crawls in her window, red in his eyes and on his shoes and her perfect, trembling fear staring back at him. 

It used to be the stillness that got him hard, the way a body goes limp in the moment of death. The sudden vacancy, the space where a soul used to be until he took it. The sense of power and control... 

But now it’s the moment their eyes meet across her bedroom and he gets to watch her fall apart all over again. All her carefully reassembled calm, the facade she puts on for the world, crumbling as if she really were made of porcelain. As if she really were some fragile thing when Peter knows more than anyone else just how strong Lydia Martin really is.

He pauses there, in the window frame. He always does, as if by not moving he can suspend them there in the moment. And it seems to work. A little. A very little. As if the world holds its breath each time he does, torn between what was and what is. What he’s done and what he’s going to do.

What she’s going to _say_.

How it’s going to feel when her sex clamps down on him as she comes.

Lydia swallows but refuses to blink, lifts her chin in defiance when she asks, “Who was it this time?”

“Does it matter?” he answers, climbing inside and shedding his coat. It feels natural to keep going, remove his shoes, shirt, pants, until he’s as bared to her as her soul is to him. Nowhere near as beautiful, of course, but that’s half of what gets him off. The idea of fucking someone as pure as her. So good. So moral. 

He loves watching her grapple with herself as she comes undone under him, over him. In his mouth and on his cock and the way she cries sometimes after.

Though her voice quakes, Peter can hear the steel in it when she says, “Yes.”

His breath catches in his chest looking down into those eyes. Those big, wet eyes that should look frightened (they do), should look petrified of the monster thumbing at her lip (they don’t), but what Peter sees when he looks into them is resolve.

It’s not a certainty. Not yet, but it is a promise of sorts. What might be one day. What she could become. He isn’t waxing poetic when he calls it steel in her voice. That’s what he hears, what she’s promised him.

He looks at Lydia Martin and sees his death shining back at him, pure as driven snow. She might love him one day, too, but it won’t stop her -- would never stop her from doing what she thinks is right. 

He slides his hand down to cup her jaw, threads his other into her hair and she makes this noise -- half sigh, half whimper -- and suddenly Peter’s thinking of nothing so much as the noise she’ll make when she wraps her hand around his heart and he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, he’s going to find out.

Some day. Maybe sooner than he thinks.

He’s not sure what he’s asking for when he says, “Please.”


End file.
